Date:          December 2003
Title:         Drawing her Figure
Author:        Jeroen Verbeek, Copyright (C) 2003. All rights reserved.

Summary:       I'm drawing the perfect woman on a piece of paper, but I 
               can't resist her beauty.

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Drawing her Figure


I didn't know her name. I didn't necessary need to. They just asked me to 
draw her figure on a piece of paper, assuring me that she was my idea of a 
perfect woman. And they were right; she truly was every guy's dream. (At 
least she was mine.)
     She entered the room and without hesitation or the slightest sense of 
shame she undressed. Indeed her body met my fairly precise technical 
specifications for softness and curvature, while containing only a minimum 
amount of fat and flesh necessary. My ethereal beauty was no longer a 
fantasy; no longer a faded photograph from another era.
     "Draw me well," she almost whispered and tossed her long sandy-blond 
hair back, knowing it was an erotic pose.
     I started to rough in the outline of her face, chest and torso. Then I 
worked down in more detail, like I'd learned from drawing lessons. One of 
the most important things was to make her look `natural`. I hated those 
female anime characters with their thin shoulders, thin stomach, somewhat 
round waist, and their melon sized boobs. They always looked kind of weird 
to me.
     In my mind I called my model Samantha. She could be proud of her 
womanly figure, hourglass perfect, accented by a larger than normal bust 
line. Her face, wide at the temples and narrow at the jaw, showed no marks 
of age or sorrow. She had full red lips, a small delicate nose, and the 
sweet innocence in her large hazel made her look like a fairytale princess. 
After I'd finished up her head I moved on to her dainty neck, her 
shoulders, her arms, and her hands, which bore no signs of hard labor. 
Satisfied I stood back and admired my work so far. Now it was time to start 
with the real job.

Feminine curves always had triggered my male instincts of appreciation and 
desire, as well as I'd always preferred symmetrical features. Therefore, I 
adored breasts, be it the shape, the softness, the movement, or the 
emotional associations. I'd studied the ancient history of women and the 
bust line in all its glory. Throughout the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, 
the perfect breasts were high and round like small oranges, perky and 
white, and quite wide apart. A glaring contrast with the western culture of 
today where the beauty ideal was supposed to be skinny with bounteous 
breasts. 
     Fortunately Samantha didn't match the set of standards we were 
nowadays told to conform to -- even if it took surgery to do so! Her smooth 
hairless skin was bronzed by the sun and her small waist emphasized her 
generous breasts. To achieve an ample view, I asked her to flex her knees 
and arms in a crouching position so that her firm breasts obeyed the law of 
gravity. She immediately agreed to my request, and as usual I was glad to 
work with models: ever ready to please, always smiling, and never aging. 
Just to good to be true.
     Slowly I moved down her chest, and across her flat stomach. Then I 
reached the `vee` between her legs, and her pubic mound, thatched lightly 
with a patch of hair. Finally, I drew along her long shapely legs, her 
sleek ankles, and ended up at the heels of her feet.

An hour later I finished the drawing of my idealized female body. I fought 
the urge to take her in my arms, but my curiosity and sexual arousal 
suddenly took over. Samantha had fed my adolescent mind with a vivid 
fantasy that was absolutely out of reach in reality. She'd been the 
temptation of my impish delight. Now I wanted to touch her, to hold her, to 
kiss her, and to make love to her. And without asking I gave myself 
permission to explore her. I didn't see the fear in her eyes. I also didn't 
notice the tears spilling down the sides of her face. Her body shuddered, 
and at the moment I touched her, she slowly broke into fragments, withering 
into dust -- carried away by the wind, never to be seen again. It all 
happened right in front of me. She had just vanished into thin air!
     "Oh, my God!" I buried my face in my hands.
     The slats of the vertical blinds were still swaying as I realized what 
I'd done. I sat down, gasping, until I was convinced she truly was gone. 
This was unbelievable; I never thought anything like this happened in real 
life. Then I woke up in a cold sweat, and the memory of Samantha faded away 
like sand through splayed fingers.



The End




----- This work is copyright (C) Jeroen Verbeek, 2003, all rights reserved -----